Come Through
by cooliochick5
Summary: The snow clinging to his leather boots, the boys; no, his boys, faces go from grim to sullen as he turned his back on them. The sinking dread in the pit of his heart as he left Toki's safety in their hands. By now he felt as though that fear was unnecessary. He knew all too well that they would come through in the end. They always did.
It had only been a month. One month exactly. Charles, as he sat before the large computer screen that illuminated the room in a soft red glow that paled in comparison to the Doomstar, could recall the day so well; The snow clinging to his leather boots, the boys; no, _his_ boys, faces go from grim to sullen as he turned his back on them. The sinking dread in the pit of his heart as he left Toki's safety in their hands. By now he felt as though that fear was unnecessary.

He knew all too well that they would come through in the end.

They always did.

And yet, Charles sat before this large computer screen, his fingers ghosting over the soft black keys, tapping them lightly but never with enough force to actually input any of the letters. This wouldn't be the first time he had played this game before and it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

It wasn't healthy, he concluded; he had to leave the boys and contacting them would only lead to an unruly desire to return to them. And yet, here he was yet again, fingers finding their places on the keyboard as an expert tap lead to access of the many cameras installed in his previous home.

Charles remembered the day he first did this; Toki had just been rescued and suffered greatly at the hands of his own mind. He was thin, weak, and sick. Some nights, Charles would have to look away from the screen as Toki's pathetic cries rang out through his speakers, filling the room in the most chilling wail the ex manager had ever heard; and that says a lot considering that band was the one he once took care of.

"Hey, hey, Toki, it's me. Yer okay." A voice, undeniably Pickles, cut through the sobs, drawing Charles' eyes back to the monitor.

The drummer sat on the corner of the younger man's bed, reaching a timid hand to rest on his band mate's shoulder, "Toki, listen, yer gonna hafta get up. Just fer a bit, we gotta check ya out. Then ya can go back ta bed." The hand from earlier had finally reached the man's shoulder, giving it a slow, gentle shake.

"P-pick-" Toki's voice was interrupted by an abrupt cough, his small frame rattling by its force; Had Pickles' hand not been on him, Toki would have curled in on himself, a new batch of wails tearing from his throat as the curve of his body aggravated his wounds.

"Yeah, Toki. It sucks, I know, but yer sugar was real low earlier. 'M just gonna check it, is all." The drummer shifted his hand to grab Toki's kit from behind him.

Giving Toki his insulin had become Pickles' job upon his return; With his extensive years of drug use, the drummer knew a trick or two when it came to sliding the needle in as painlessly as possible. With the year of surviving on nothing but scarce meals, Toki's sugar became increasingly inconsistent; even now when he was finally put back on a regular meal schedule, they could never get back up to a decent level, usually falling just as fast as he had been given his dose of insulin. These checks had become almost hourly.

"P-pickle...I-I d-don't..."

"I know, dood, but lets just get it over with. Ya might not even need another shot." Pickles loaded a new strip into the meter, turning it on and grimacing as the 'low battery' notification flashed on the screen, "Shit. Gotta remember ta change the batteries." The drummer noted before glancing back up at the guitarist.

Toki, who had long since given up his arguing, slowly propped himself up on his elbow, "I ams t-too t-tired."

"Toki, I need ta check it. Do ya want me ta get Nat'an in here? He can hold ya up." Pickles set the meter on the bed, determined to reason with the younger man. Toki shook his head, knowing all too well what Nathan would have to do once the insulin was over.

No one quite got the disgusting antibiotics to go down smooth like he did; but Toki didn't want drugs right now, he just wanted sleep.

"P-pickle..."

"Alrigh' then, come 'ere." Pickles shifted on the bed until the he sat just behind Toki, who let his shoulders droop and sank backward, bracing against the drummer's chest. He let his eyes slip shut, a long slow exhale leaving through his nose as his finger was pricked. A soft beep let him know his more favorite part of the process was over. Sitting up slightly to read, Toki felt Pickles sigh slowly behind him,

"67...Ya know what that means..." Pickles set the meter on the night stand before reaching for Toki's insulin.

"I-I ams so tired..."

"I know, Toki, I know." Pickles soothed as he readied the syringe, reclining just enough so the guitarist could at least relax, "Alrigh', breathe in." The drummer lifted the corner of the man's shirt. A grimace graced the older man's face as his eyes were met by the site of dirtied bandages and pale skin stretched dangerously close to hip bones. Putting the initial shock behind him, Pickles traced a small section of Toki's abdomen, checking for any crudely done injection marks. When he found none at this particular sight, his reached for an alcohol wipe, sanitizing, the positioning the needle.

"Breathe out."

Toki's face scrunched; less from the pain and more due to the knowledge that his skin was being pierced. No sooner had his breath run out was the needle removed and his shirt returned to its rightful place.

"Alrigh', Toki, we're all done." Pickles commented, though he made no attempt to move. It always went this way; No one could ever bare to keep Toki awake any longer than he needed to be. If that meant a premature nap in Toki's bed, so be it.

With the trauma of what he had initially witness, Charles found he could let his shoulders fall slightly, a renewed sense of faith in his boys washing over him.

Assured that at least one of the boys was keeping an eye an Toki, Charles shut down his computer in what would be the first of many instances his found himself checking in on his boys.

 _ **Disclaimers: I own nothing.**_


End file.
